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Several enthusiastic boyfriends have asked for private shows, and I noticed that the way I masturbate when I’m trying to turn someone on is very different from the way I masturbate when I’m alone: there’s more dramatic moaning, showy movements, and breathy statements of how wet I am.When I heard about an event called the Masturbate-a-Thon, I expected it to be full of elaborately made-up women with manicures shoving glass dildos in their orifices as a room of slavering dudes watched them.

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“Let’s grab that couch,” I said to Angela, and we scurried over and dropped our toybag on the sofa by the DJ booth.

The DJ was a blue-haired young woman who gave us a professional nod as we pulled out our vibrators, as though she was used to people brandishing sex toys.

The DJ kept spinning good music, and the older man in the corner kept racking up orgasms (we heard later he won the contest by coming 7 times in a 3 hour period).

As we sweatily shrugged into our clothes, I turned to Angela and said, “That was the most comfortable masturbation party I’ve ever been to.” “It was like being in my own living room,” she agreed.

Lying on the couch at the Masturbate-a-thon, I actually felt much less pressure to have an orgasm and my movements got more languorous and sensual as I relaxed and settled into the sensations.

It was surprisingly quiet in there, although there were occasional muffled grunts or groans and, of course, fapping noises.

Directly across from me was a guy wearing a blond wig, cut-off shirt, and babydoll skirt: his rigid cock was peeking out from underneath the hemline as he twisted his nipples.

To my right was a small group of young men with mohawks, their heavily chiseled bodies in a semi-circle as they all stared intently at each other’s rapidly moving hands.

Eventually, the crowd trickled in until there were about 50 or 60 people milling around from room to room, fully clothed.

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